


The Lights We Chase

by LadySmutterella



Series: Tell Me I'm A Bad Man [1]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Drunk Sex, Exhibitionism, First Time, M/M, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, Unsafe Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 02:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5521844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySmutterella/pseuds/LadySmutterella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gerard watches – even when he doesn't mean to – and he will take anything Mikey is willing to show him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lights We Chase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jiksa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiksa/gifts).



> One of two prequels to Tell Me I'm a Bad Man. Gifted to Jiksa because she deserves all the love, both for the whole keeping me sane thing, and because she is just that adorable.

There are people who like parties, and people who don’t.

Gerard firmly identifies as the latter.

Sadly needs must when the devil drives, the devil in this case being Mikey, who has _opinions_ about Gerard getting out and meeting people – even if those people are his colleagues (if you even _have_ colleagues when you are an intern) and the party is at his boss’s house. 

It’s easier to give in sometimes though; Mikey is deceptively persistent when there is something he wants, and seems to firmly believe that the end justifies the means when it comes to achieving his goals. 

So, Gerard tags along, smiles nicely at the people Mikey introduces him to, and, as soon as Mikey’s back is turned, he grabs a bottle of vodka and heads up to the Bedroom of Coats (tm). It’s quiet up here, and he can get drunk in private without having to think of small talk to make to strangers. 

He’s made a significant dent in the bottle and is just congratulating himself on making sound decisions when he’s rudely interrupted by the sound of drunken giggling outside the room.

 _Not here_ , he thinks, putting as much force behind the thought as he can. _Use one of the other bedrooms_. 

But the patron saint of drunk loners (whoever that is) isn’t listening to him tonight, and Gerard stifles a sigh as the door bangs open and a couple, all entwined limbs and gasping kisses, stumble in. 

There’s only one option – he has to hide and hope they finish soon and _fuck off_. 

Fortunately there’s a gap between the wardrobe and the wall, and it’s dark enough that he can probably hide there. If push comes to shove he can pretend he’s asleep or passed out or something, but judging from the noises the couple are making he doesn’t think he’ll be called on to unduly exercise his powers of deception. 

Really, he’s planning to finish as much of the rest of the bottle as he can while he waits this out, and then he’s going to go find Mikey and head home when he realises he knows the bodies in the doorway. 

It’s Mikey, and the kid from Pencey Prep who Gerard’s noticed maybe a bit too much, and Gerard is officially screwed. 

He backs further into the corner, more determined than ever that he should go unnoticed. His stomach is burning and he’s not sure if it’s the vodka or jealousy – and if it’s jealousy he’s not sure who he’s jealous of. 

They’re a study in contrasts: Mikey is all smudged eyeliner and sharp cheekbones. His jeans are riding low and Gerard knows that if he looked close enough he could see Mikey’s hipbones, the soft plane of his stomach, the sparse hairs that run down in a line that tempts Gerard too much. Frank though; he’s like a force of nature, all coiled energy and eyes that would tempt an angel to fall. 

And they’re both clearly drunk. They break the kiss, stumble into the room. Mikey reaches out, runs his fingers down Frank’s sides, and Frank _giggles_. Giggles and reaches out himself, balls his fists in the flimsy fabric of Mikey’s t-shirt and pulls him close, and Gerard is so careful not to look, not to watch the pale skin that’s exposed, not to track the movement and muscles that it exposes. 

Sometimes Gerard thinks that Mikey is all edges, sharp enough that he would be cut to ribbons if he was ever brave enough to touch. 

“Mikey,” Frank says, his voice breaking as he tries to control his laugh. “Mikey, Mikey, Mikeyway.”

“What?” Gerard can hear the smile in Mikey’s voice, the warmth, and he presses further back, hides himself more. 

“Wanna see you naked,” Frank says, and starts to pull at Mikey’s shirt. “Jesus. Mikey. You’ve been flirting all night. D’you have any idea what you fucking look like?” 

“No.” Mikey casts his eyes down, looks up from under his lashes like when he’s trying to win Gerard over to one of his stupid schemes. “Why don’t you tell me, Frank?” 

“Like a fucking tease,” Frank says, “who needs to be fucked.” He presses Mikey into the wall and kisses him again. “Now, get out of those pants.” 

“Maybe I want to hear pretty things first.” Mikey shimmies out of Frank’s arms and spins, shirtless into the centre of the room. “Maybe you should be trying to impress me, Frankie.” He pauses, puts his hands on the buckle of his belt, rolls his hips. 

“You’re so _pretty_ ,” Frank says, his eyes wide as Mikey undoes the belt, pops the top button of his jeans. “Jesus, Mikey. I’ve no idea how you even get into those things. They look painted on you.”

“But you’ve been watching though.” Mikey turns around, looks over his shoulder at Frank. “I’ve seen you.” 

“Of course I have. Been wanting to peel you out of them.”

Mikey turns his face away from Frank, and Gerard freezes. If Mikey looks up now, he’ll see him, and Gerard has no idea what he’ll say. But instead he smiles, small and sly. 

“Get over here and do it then,” he says, and Frank is on him in a second, stripping his jeans off and knocking Mikey onto the bed in the process. 

“Commando.” Frank’s voice is full of delighted shock. “Mikey, you _slut_.” 

“Easier,” Mikey tells him, and Gerard hears Frank moan as Mikey kisses him again. “You complaining?”

“Never.” He flings his own shirt off, wriggles out of his pants, tosses them away. “C’mere, Mikey. Let me touch you.”

They’re completely absorbed in each other, and Gerard is fairly sure he could make it out of the room without them noticing, but for some reason he’s rooted to the spot. _I need to make sure Mikey’s safe_ he tells himself, and wishes that he was drunk enough to believe the lie. 

Objectively there is nothing beautiful about what he’s seeing; they’re drunk kids, making out like drunk kids, all clumsy hands and elbows that appear in the wrong places at the wrong moments. It’s nothing like the porn Gerard watches – it’s fumbling, and they’re giggling, and it’s so much better. Their pleasure in each other is contagious and Gerard is so hard it hurts. 

“Mikey,” Frank says, breathless now. “I wanna fuck you.”

The words make Gerard catch his breath. Mikey hasn’t messed around with many guys before, not seriously. He’s told Gerard this, confessions in the dark in the small hours of the morning when they shared their fears about sexualities, about being loved or alone. 

_I need to make sure Mikey’s safe_ he thinks again, and this time he’s fairly sure he’s telling the truth. 

“Is there any lube?” Mikey asks, and there’s banging and giggling as Frank hunts through a bedside drawer, and Mikey sucks a mark onto his hip.

“No lube.” Frank emerges, something in his hand. “Just this.”

It’s hand lotion, Gerard can see, and his mouth twists, because this isn’t how Mikey should be doing this. 

It doesn’t seem to bother Mikey, though. He spreads his legs as Frank squeezes some of the lotion onto his fingers, and Gerard hears him sigh as Frank reaches out and touches him. 

“I haven’t done this before,” Frank says, his voice small and honest for the first time since they entered the room. 

“I haven’t had anyone do it to me,” Mikey says, and Gerard knows what the admission must cost him. Mikey-fucking-Way, social butterfly and slut about town, telling someone that this is a first. But Frank doesn’t seem to notice or care. He reaches out with his free hand and pets Mikey’s knee.

“How does it feel?” he asks. 

“Strange.” Gerard can hear Mikey swallow. “I dunno. Just…”

There’s enough light from the window so Gerard can see Frank frowning in concentration. He’s slid two fingers into Mikey, but now he twists his hand and Mikey _gasps_.

“Is that it?” Frank sounds strangled, and Gerard can’t breathe. “I mean, I read about it, and I kinda explored, you know, on myself, but it’s different when you’re doing it on someone else.”

“Yeah,” Mikey says, breathless. “Yeah. That’s it.” 

“We’re naturals, Mikeyway,” Frank says, and Gerard can hear the smile more than see it. “Ain’t nobody gonna be able to stop us.” 

Mikey groans, and arches back on the bed, and Gerard can’t tear his eyes away. 

“Gotta fuck you,” Frank says. “Please.” He kisses the soft skin on Mikey’s hip. 

“Yeah,” Mikey says, but he’s pushing his elbows under him, sitting up, and he doesn't sound sure. “Yeah, but, Frank…"

“I'll be gentle,” Frank says, and Gerard can see how he's linked his fingers with Mikey's. “And I'll make it good for you, I promise, Mikeyway.”

“‘kay,” Mikey says. Gerard can see him trace his fingers over Frank’s. “You have a condom?”

“Fuck.” Frank sounds chagrined. “I don’t." He pulls away from Mikey, hunts through the bedside cabinet again. “Fuck.” Then he looks up and Gerard can see the hellfire burning in his eyes. “Hey, Mikeyway. Let me fuck you without a condom.” He grins, wicked. “I promise not to knock you up, and if I do, I'll marry you.”

It makes Mikey laugh and that makes Frank laugh and they're rolling around the bed like the drunk little shits they are.

“Gonna ask for my hand?” Mikey asks and Frank snorts.

“Sure your brother will give it to me,” he says. “He knows quality when he sees it.”

“That's not all he wants to give you,” Mikey says, and Gerard has to bite his tongue to stop himself telling Mikey to shut up.

“Really?” Frank sounds interested. “Maybe I should go find him, then. Maybe he'll let me fuck him bare.”

“Maybe you should shut up and fuck me already,” Mikey says, and Gerard hears the edge to his tone, wonders what it might mean. “Unless you'd prefer my brother that is.”

Frank snorts and squeezes more lotion onto his hand. “I want you, Mikeyway,” he says as he rubs the lotion onto his cock. “You know that.” He pauses then, looking suddenly unsure. “How do you want to do this?”

“How do you usually do it?”

Frank shrugs. “Not done it with a dude before,” he says, and there’s the tiniest thread of defensiveness to his tone. “You want me to fuck you missionary?” He grins again, equilibrium apparently regained. “I can kiss your face and say pretty words in your ear…”

“Fuck off.” Mikey giggles and turns himself over on the bed. “Or fuck me.” He reaches down, strokes his cock, and looks back at Frank. “Unless you’re too chickenshit, Frankie.” 

Frank smacks his ass, and the noise makes Gerard jump. “You’re gonna be sorry you said that.” 

He lines himself up, and Gerard watches as he pushing into Mikey; watches the way he bites his lip, watches the tension in his shoulders, sees how slowly he moves, how he stops when the head of his cock is just inside Mikey. 

“This okay?” he asks, and Gerard watches at how Mikey’s hands fist and release in the jacket under him on the bed. He wishes he could see Mikey’s face, could see what Mikey is feeling. But Mikey is facing away and all Gerard can see is the slope of his body, what Frank is doing to him. 

“Hurts,” he says, and Gerard knows that tension in his voice, knows he’s telling the truth. “Gimme a second.”

Frank does. He holds his body absolutely still, strokes his hand gently down Mikey’s spine. 

“Take your time,” he says. “We’re good.” He looks down at where he’s joined to Mikey and shivers, his eyes falling shut for a second. “Jesus, Mikey. You feel…”

He trails off and runs his hands down Mikey’s sides, gentle and calming, and Gerard can see the moment that Mikey exhales, relaxes. 

“Okay,” he says, the faintest tremor to his voice. “You can move.”

Frank sighs and Gerard sees him tighten his grip on Mikey’s hips as he pushes forward. It’s clumsy, and probably not that good for either of them, but the noises they are both making leave Gerard painfully hard in his jeans. And Frank is being careful, more careful than Gerard would expect him to be, even when he starts to speed up, even as his breathing turns erratic. 

“Fuck,” he says, under his breath, like an afterthought, and he reaches around and starts to jerk Mikey’s cock in time with his thrusts. “Fuck, Mikey. You feel so good.” 

Mikey’s close now – Gerard can tell from his breathing, knows what it sounds like when he’s getting off and trying to be quiet about it – but it isn’t until Frank leans forward and bites his shoulder that he groans and comes, twisting and clenching under Frank. 

“Fuck,” Frank says again. “Can feel you coming. You’re so _tight_.” 

He groans and snaps his hips forward, and Mikey, overstimulated now, whines, high in his throat as Frank comes in him. 

Afterwards Frank collapses onto Mikey’s back and Mikey sags down onto the coats under him. They lie there like this, their breathing returning to normal, and Gerard watches as Frank presses kisses to the side of Mikey’s face, his hair, his neck, fond and oddly innocent. 

He giggles as he pulls out, and it forces a smile to Gerard’s lips. Sex is inherently ridiculous, and Frank’s humour makes him ache in a way he can’t articulate, even to himself. 

“You okay?” Frank asks, and Mikey hums.

“Yeah,” he says. “Feels a bit odd.”

“Yeah.” Frank looks across at him, scratches his belly, looks away again, like he’s remembered where he is, who he’s with. “Want me to get you another drink?”

Mikey nods. “Vodka,” he says. “If Gee’s left us any.” He looks around, clearly trying to spot his clothes. “Saporta said he was gonna play something later on. I wanna hear that.”

“You wanna hit that,” Frank says, and they both giggle. 

He pauses, though, when he sits up, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t find the words. 

“That was fun,” he manages at last, and leans down, snags Mikey’s jeans and throws them to him. “Thanks.”

Mikey shrugs. “Anytime,” he says, and Gerard wonders if Frank can hear the things Mikey’s not saying as well as he can. 

If he does, he doesn’t comment on it. He gets dressed quickly and methodically, pausing only at the door. 

“Vodka,” he says, looking at Mikey, serious for once. “It’ll be waiting for you, Mikey. Just come and find me.” 

Mikey heaves a sigh when he’s gone, and Gerard can see him gathering himself together, getting ready to back to the party. He looks around the room before he leaves, checking if he’s left anything maybe, and for a second Gerard is sure he’s spotted him, is sure that this is the beginning of the end, but then Mikey turns away and leaves, and Gerard barely waits five seconds before he’s ripping his jeans open and jerking himself off, a shade too rough, but it’s what he needs right now, what he deserves. 

It’s only when he’s come that the familiar disgust settles under his skin, familiar as his reflection in a mirror. 

He won’t do it again, he promises himself. He _can’t_. Mikey doesn’t deserve it – Gerard doesn’t. 

_Never again_ , he says to himself. And he means it.

—

Months later when Pencey Prep fold and they ask Frank if he wants to join MCR, he’s worried it’ll be awkward. 

He asks Mikey first, but Mikey just shrugs and tells him to go for it, which in Mikey-speak is as good as a parade, and it doesn’t seem awkward. 

After he’s asked Frank, survived Frank’s full-body effusive acceptance, he wonders if Mikey and Frank will pick up where they left off on the night of the party. They don’t seem to, though. 

Instead Mikey brings home a string of pretty scene kids to fuck, and Gerard walks in on them so often he kinda gets used to watching – starts to look forward to watching. 

And when Mikey finally, much later, brings Frank home again, stops bringing home anyone else, Gerard starts to think they’ve come full circle. That maybe this time Mikey has found someone he can actually care about, and even though he (still) can’t look away when he finds them, he’s glad for Mikey. Glad for Frank. Glad for both of them, even as he swallows down the bitterness in his heart, the certainty he’s gonna end up alone forever. 

It’s his punishment for watching, he knows. And maybe one day he’ll stop, maybe one day he’ll find someone of his own. Maybe he’ll want them as much as he wants Frank - or Mikey.

Maybe. One day.


End file.
